


give you something good to celebrate

by cinderlily



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 22:31:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11344431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderlily/pseuds/cinderlily
Summary: It's Sidney's thirtieth birthday and his day with the Cup. Not that he's complaining or anything, but it wasn't everything he'd thought his thirtieth birthday would be.





	give you something good to celebrate

The image Sidney had of himself at age thirty was, well, different than the one he was currently living. He woke on his thirtieth birthday with the world at his feet, literally. He had the Stanley Cup, he had his house, he had his family nearby. It was an absolutely brilliant Cole Harbor day. But somehow it felt like it was completely devoid of what he wanted. 

He smiled at the man who was there to protect the Cup, offered him some coffee and breakfast but apparently the trade off of protectors had happened and the man was satisfied. He put together a nice and simple omelette, wheat toast, and a big cup of liquid caffeine and sat at his bar stool with his legs crossed. 

This wasn’t his home. Not really. His house in Pittsburgh wasn’t quite his home, but it was definitely more of his home than this. He was lucky if he spent thirty nights in a the year at this point in this amazing house that he’d spent money on. He stared out the kitchen window and looked at green and lake and tried to think about why a part of him felt … nothing. 

He’d set up an appointment at the Veteran’s hall and the Children’s hospital, capped with a party for his friends at his house that night. It was year two, and not that it took anything away, if anything if multiplied the awesomeness of it, but he wasn’t quite as religious with every moment as he had been the year before. 

His cell phone rang and he saw his sister making a face at him. He smiled. 

“What’s up, Taylor?” 

She laughed and he heard his own laugh in hers, he loved his little sister. “Well, Sidney, I heard a rumor that you were turning the dirty thirty, so I figured I’d at least call or something. You’re freaky and up this early.” 

“ _You’re_ up, and you are coming to my house this afternoon,” he pointed out, taking a bite of the omelette. 

“I know, but sisters are weird and like to tell their siblings they love each other at every opportunity,” she teased. “You sound sad. Sid. Are you sad? Thirty isn’t old, why are you sad? You have the _Cup_ , it’s your birthday? Is dad being a jerk?” 

He bristled, they had a different view on their dad sometimes. “ **No**.”

“Well, then why do you sound like a kicked puppy?” 

“I don’t sound like a kicked puppy,” he said, defensively. He looked over at the Cup protector who was conveniently not looking at him. “It’s early in the morning, Taylor.” 

“I’m coming over,” she said and before he got the chance to even blink he got that strange empty noise of a deadline. Freaking Taylor. He loved that girl with all he had but jeez, sometimes she had the habit of being an actual bratty little sister. 

He finished his omelette and took the plate to the sink. He was, probably, sounding at least a little like a kicked dog. But he wasn’t sure _why_. He took his phone out again and took a selfie (yes, he knew how to do that) of himself and the cup. He smiled as wide as he could and had his hand around it. He sent it to his publicist, no doubt it would be out in the world in minutes. 

His smile didn’t look real. Damn it, Taylor. 

It was just that, at thirty, he had thought he would be a different person. He had always set goals in hockey, the Cup, beating records, beating rivals. He could easily put those onto a chart and check them off. But he was thirty and he had very few things to check off his non-hockey list. He figured he’d be married by now. Maybe a kid, maybe two. Definitely one. 

But he was alone, on his Cup day, two years running. With the protector dude in the corner not making a peep. It was, to put it lightly, a little depressing. He put his hand over his face. He knew he had maybe twenty minutes until Taylor stormed his house, and she had a key so he had no choice but to let her in. 

“I’m going to take a quick shower,” he said, aloud. 

The protector gave him a small look. “You know it’s not good to keep the …” 

Sid stopped him. “Yeah, I’ll keep the Cup out here. Not my first rodeo.” 

Which sounded stupid and a little conceited and all the Canadian in his blood screamed for him to apologize for that rude remark but the one ounce of bad feeling just told him to let it go. He walked into his bedroom and locked the door. He was afraid of the Cup guy, but his sister was not one for boundaries so he figured barriers were good. 

* 

Twenty five minutes later he walked out in jeans, a Finals Sweater, and a hat over his head. Taylor was seated on the stool he’d abandoned, drinking one of his pops and smiling at him beatifically. 

“Hey old man,” she said. “You look ready to enjoy a day.” 

He walked over to give her a quick tight hug and frowned. “You know, the Cup is highly protected. He could have you arrested.” 

“Mike wouldn’t do that to me,” she smiled. “Would you Mike?” 

The Cup guy looked up at her and winked. “Of course not, Ms. Crosby.” 

“See, we’re good. I showed him my ID and he let me right in. It was an easy transaction. Do you know he’s a Thunder Bay kid? Though he assures me he isn’t a Staal boy, he’s all Pittsburgh. At least this season.” 

Sid shuffled his feet, he hadn’t even thought to ask the guys name and Taylor was here at MAX ten minutes and knew where he was from. He rubbed at the back of his neck. 

“Well, hopefully he’ll stay a Pens fan for a while.” 

Taylor punched him softly on the shoulder. “Getting cocky there, big bro?” 

He raised an eyebrow her and she shrugged. 

“Okay, you would be the last Pen to be called cocky. Maybe Geno… speaking of which…” 

Sid turned away from her and started walking towards the kitchen. “You want something to drink?” 

“Not even beginning to be smooth, jerk. I grabbed a beer when I walked in,” she said and when his head jerked back she laughed. “You are too easy to get. My WATER is on your counter.” 

He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a Coconut Water out of the fridge, downing a third of it in one large gulp. He walked over to his pantry to see if there was anything he could throw in his bag for the day to keep him fed, even if he was sure there would be food everywhere. Never know when you have to get protein in your system. 

Taylor was barely a foot away from him when he turned around and he jumped a half a foot in the air. 

“Jeez, are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

She lightly punched him on his shoulder. “Geno. Evgeni Malkin. Number 71. The other head of your monster.” 

“Yeah,” he said, eyes flicking to somewhere above her left shoulder. “I said his name and you fled like I was talking about a guy **I** was dating.” 

He narrowed his eyes. “Which you aren’t….” 

“You are really trying to wiggle out of this,” she said in awe. “Where’s Geno?” 

He squirmed. “I dunno. Russia, assumedly?” 

“Assumedly? Meaning you haven’t confirmed that. Meaning you haven’t talked to your other half in more than twelve hours?” 

“He’s not my other half,” Sid scoffed, but it was pretty weak on his end. He looked over at Mike, who was conveniently looking at his phone. He looked at the stove’s clock and sighed. They had twenty or so minutes till they got picked up for the first event. 

He tilted his head towards his bedroom and Taylor followed, just a bit too smiley for his comfort. He waited till he could close the door as a barrier between himself and the guy who quite possibly could spread things. He trusted his sister with everything he had. 

“It isn’t that big of a deal,” he said, again sounding a little hollow. “We just got into a little… fight. Towards the end of the season.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him. Her voice was deadpan. “A fight? You two? Why I never.” 

“I might have … kissed him. In the locker room.” 

Taylor’s eyes went extremely wide, her mouth gaping open. It was the second time he’d said it out loud, the first to Geno himself. He was a little anxious about it, in that he had hoped it would fade away but like his sister _helpfully_ pointed out, it was abnormal for he and Geno to not talk even half a world away. 

“Like, were there cameras?”

He closed his eyes and then opened one. “No one got a photo of it.” 

“ARE YOU SURE?” she practically screamed. 

“Even if I wasn’t completely sure, after two months you REALLY think that a picture of two guys kissing near the Stanley Cup wouldn’t be all over the internet? Every camera got checked on the way out. Every phone. No pictures were let out that we didn’t control.” 

That had been the plan in place BEFORE Sid in a moment of ‘holy shit two years running, GENO’ did the stupidest thing and leaned in towards Geno, just barely missing being full on his lips. It was enough to count though. He thought. And apparently Geno had thought, as later Geno had tried to fumble through a ‘it’s not you it’s me speech’, which Sid had hastily waved off. 

Yeah, yeah. He was an idiot. A giant giant idiot. 

“You haven’t talked to Geno since the CUP?” Taylor asked. 

He shrugged. “We talked about it and he was obviously not into it and I don’t want to be _that_ guy and … like. I tried calling him a few weeks later? But it was stilted and weird and …” 

His chest ached again.

There it was. The reason why he felt like shit on his thirtieth birthday. His stupidity. The fact that one of the few people he really wanted to be there wasn’t and it was entirely his fault. He rubbed at his sternum. 

“Aw, _Sidney_ ,” she whispered. 

There was a knock at the door. “Mr. Crosby, the bus is here.” 

“Oh,” he said, then called out. “Cool. Thanks M-mike?”

Taylor rolled her eyes at him but nodded. 

“We’ll be right out.” 

He turned to find Taylor in his closet and grabbing a random Pens sweater. She held it up for him. “Any bad and/or good I need to protect?” 

Considering it for a second he shook his head. She nodded and threw it over her head, as soon as her head popped out, he asked. “What are you doing?” 

“Like I’m letting you spend this day alone,” she rolled her eyes. “You are a broken toy right now, you need someone to be there. I had no big plans.” 

He let the broken toy comment slide as he did feel a little like one. Instead he opened the door to find Mike standing a respectful distance away with the cup nearby. He smiled at Mike and grabbed the Cup. It was a little heavy, but he was never going to get sick of picking that thing up. 

* 

By the time they’d gotten through the Veteran’s home and the Children’s Hospital he was actually really glad that he’d packed the protein bars. If nothing else he was feeling feeling hangry, whether he was acting it or not was a whole other question. Taylor, the diligent sister, handed him bottles of water like it was a freaking contest. It wasn’t _that_ hot in Cole Harbor but it was pretty sweaty out. 

The last of the actual assigned activities was his birthday party, which his mom had set up at their house, in their big backyard. That was supposed to be a treat at the end of the day. He somewhat dreaded it. He’d gotten to be Sidney Crosby Stanley Cup Winner all day but when he got home he was just Sid, the family member, relative, or friend. It was a little intimidating. 

Thankfully they were dropped off, as there were cars around and up both blocks surrounding his house. A lot of the guests were on the front yard with beers and soda and eyes on the prize. He smiled his best smile and lifted the Cup. There was nothing but cheers. 

The party wasn’t as bad as he thought it could be, he guessed. He liked the food, he was thankful for the friends. He was even more thankful that his dad had gotten beer that was nice and cold. The first hour or so was just him smiling and taking photos with people and the Cup, but that was so rout by then that it made it go by fast. 

When it came down to food he was handed a plate by his mother that was almost overflowing with all his childhood food and by the look on her face he was not going to complain about a bite of it. He _was_ hungry but he visually did the math of about how many extra squats and dead lifts each bite would equate to and thought his thighs were going to give out at the thought. 

He savored the taste of his mom’s potato salad though, and even found a chair with space in front of it for him to actually dig in. It was in between two sets of people having conversations and they didn’t turn for him to join in. It was a birthday miracle. 

Taylor had, scarily, faded into the background. He was pretty sure that was a bad sign, but he didn’t know how. She could pull pranks with the best of them and he was pretty gullible so his birthday sometimes scared the crap out of him. A few years before she gave him a “World’s Best Uncle” shirt that had him sputtering for a whole minute before he lifted the shirt to find the _real_ gift. (A copy of some of his favorite movies on Blu-Ray.) 

His mom was hovering, not that that was new. She made sure he ate all the food and then offered him seconds. He was usually not one to turn down his mom’s cooking but… well. He knew there was a cake somewhere and he hadn’t even had a chance to work out that day so he shook his head firmly. 

His dad took his mostly empty beer and handed him a new one. That was new. 

At some point he noted that Taylor was back and he couldn’t help but notice that she looked… guilty. Like really freaking guilty. Which was not a look on her. She only felt guilty on game days if she broke the talking to him tradition. She slid over to table and took a newly abandoned seat. 

“Hey big bro, what’s up?” she said, sipping from a beer. He got that she was old enough for it, was painfully aware of the fact, actually but it was still unsettling. He still remembered his little duckling, following him around the house chirping ‘Sid!’. That was a lifetime ago. 

Sid looked her up and down, skeptically looking her over making sure there wasn’t a water gun or like… silly string on her body. “Just taking a breather.” 

She nodded in that was that drunk people did, over exaggerated and almost tipping over. But he’d seen her drunk and she most definitely was not. “Okay. Cool.” 

“Taylor,” he said slowly. “Is there something I need to know about?” 

Taylor put a hand to her chest in fake innocence. “Of course not, Sid.” 

He simply tilted his head and stared her down. He was the big brother here, he knew his sister. She shrugged up at him with wide eyes and a small curve of her lip. 

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Sidney Patrick,” she said, simultaneously looking over his shoulder. “You are getting paranoid in your old age.” 

He let out a scoff. “Thirty isn’t _old_.” 

“Keep telling yourself that Squid.” 

He rolled his eyes at her. “You know Army is the only one allowed to call me that.” 

“Speaking of Army, where is he today?” 

Sid shrugged. That was the weird thing about his profession. A few year ago he would have said without a doubt he would never lose touch with Armstrong but it had been months since one of their talks. Not to mention Jordie. He hadn’t really spent more than a dinner with him since the last Hurricanes game. 

He wondered sadly if that was what was going to happen with Geno. If he was going to wonder where he was in a few years. They both had locked down contracts. He knew for a fact he was a Pen for life, and he had little doubt Geno would be as well. Yet careers only had a certain shelf life and his in particular had had a habit of taking turns he wasn’t really sure what the after was. 

“Why are you looking so mopey all of a sudden?” Taylor asked. “You have his number in your phone.”

Sid blinked. “Whose?” 

“Armstrong?” 

He blinked at her. “Oh, yeah. I… I’ll give him a call after the craziness of today.” 

“You are a big man child, you know that, right?” she said, bumping her knee against his. He didn’t even fight it. Instead he shrugged and sipped at his beer. “Come on, it’s your _birthday_ , jerk. Let’s get to the party aspect of this. I think mom has ice cream, we could make a huge sundae in the Cup?” 

“We might want to clean it first, Kuni had it yesterday,” Sid said and she shuddered. 

*

Another hour, cake and a Stanley Cup sundae later, Sid was feeling a little better. A bit like he should be rolled out of the building, but better. He was exhausted, it had been a long long day. But he still, apparently, had to open gifts. His mother was insistent. She had set it up so the cup was in the foreground, so he could take pictures with every gift AND the Cup, like it was his 10th birthday not his 30th. 

He **hated** presents, to be completely honest. There was either one of two things. People either knew him too well and he would get something super specific that couldn’t be explained and sometimes made him blush or they didn’t know him at all and he got gifts that were random and not him. Also, the awkward knowledge of his income was always hanging over his head. As a kid all he wanted was a stick or a piece of gear and that was it. 

At 30 he was getting… well. Nice things. Just. Not really him. His parents, or his mom most likely, got him _Guns, Germs and Steel_ by Jared Diamond, which was pretty okay. One of his cousins found him a deck of cards with the 2017 Pens on them. He was mostly relieved to find that he was the King, Geno the Jack and the Queen was a Pens logo. That was not merchandise that needed branding. 

The presents got to almost nothing and he still didn’t see Taylor’s, which was beginning to get under his skin in a way he wasn’t prepared for. She wouldn’t… there were pranks and there PRANKS. So he was hoping she was just going pull out the gift at the last minute and it would be like… a giant cardboard cutout of his head or something. Which he kind of already had, in his house in Pittsburgh because Tanger had gotten bored and sent them out to a lot of the guys.

The last gift on the table was from one of his friend’s from forever ago. He couldn’t help but worry it wouldn’t be safe for who was in the area but it turned out to be a gift card to Timmy’s with a puck underneath it that they had both signed at age 8. 

“My signature is the one that makes it worth anything,” his friend chirped. 

Another one of his friend’s added in. “Just cause you just learned your signature.” 

“SHUT UP DAVE!” 

“Hold up!” Taylor said, diving in to avoid the inevitable fight between two slightly drunk Canadians. “We have my gift.” 

Sid tensed a bit. Especially because of her guilty look from before. He put his hands over his face and preemptively blushed. “Taylor, I swear…” 

“Sid?” 

That wasn’t Taylor’s voice. That was the opposite of Taylor’s voice. It was deep and thick with an accent. He turned around and saw Geno standing in the doorway, looking shy and tired and …

“How the hell?” 

“Sidney Patrick,” his mother said and smacked his arm slightly. “But… how the hell?” 

Taylor blushed. “It turned out that Geno was in Pittsburgh this morning. He was doing some rehab on his knee.” 

Sid was gobsmacked. Staring forward like a complete idiot and wondering if it was impossible to blush himself to the point of spontaneous combustion. He might actually like it. He realized the porch was dead quiet, and the thought that they all were waiting for his reaction hit him. He sprung out of his seat and made his way over. 

“G,” he said, overly friendly, giving him a tentative hug. It satisfied the deck, at least, and they all cheered happily. 

“Taylor say give you this,” Geno said, and Sid blinked down at a box in his hands. He looked at it and wearily took it out of his hand. He opened it up to find what looked very much like a remote control but with symbols he didn’t understand. He pressed one of the buttons and a loud horn honked, another and a buzzer went off. 

He turned around. “Taylor?” 

“To help you curve your language problems on ice,” she smiled innocently. “What, you think Geno was the gift? He’s just the wrapping paper… you know… so you can…” 

He pressed three of the buttons at the same time, a cacophony filling the yard. “Thanks, Taylor.” 

“I live to serve,” she winked. 

“Evgeni,” Trina grinned widely. “Would you like some cake? Are you hungry? We have left overs for days. Why didn’t you come out earlier?” 

Taylor laughed and Sid almost choked on his own spit but Geno nodded appreciatively. 

“Cake is very good. I ate on the plane.” 

His mother tisked. “Airplane food is not food, don’t even get me started. Hold on, I’ll get you a plate.” 

As his mother went into the kitchen to grab what would no doubt be three tons of food on flimsy plate, the crowd began to talk around them, giving them a chance to talk. He looked Geno up and down. He was wearing his way too expensive jeans and a shirt that had three meerkats on them. He never understood Geno’s fashion sense. He wanted to put his hand out and touch him just to see if he was real. 

“You flew from Pittsburgh?” 

“Taylor calls, I come,” Geno said with a small smile. 

Sid had a little bit of annoyance bubble up. “What about when I call?” 

“ _Sid_ ,” Geno said, just above the din of noise. “I… I am sorry.” 

The words ‘For WHAT?’ were on the tip of his tongue when his mom came bustling out with an over full plate in her hands. “Here, Evgeni, have this.” 

“Ooof,” Geno said, but with a smile. “You try make me fat, Mrs. C.” 

“I’ve been trying to get my son for his whole life, you can survive the night,” she winked and put the plate down next to two empty seats. “A beer?” 

Sid looked at Geno who was staring at him. “Uh, yes, thank you.” 

They sat down next to each other but not too close. He took his own beer and sipped at it, while Geno ate and occasionally made idle chit chat with the people around him. A few people seemed to be hovering to ask for photos around the cup, which Sid would totally understand except that he had to _talk_ to Geno and he really wasn’t in the mood for sharing. 

Taylor caught his eyes a few times, at one time mouthing ‘Sorry’ and another ‘Need escape?’. He almost took her up on the offer, but it was his only Cup day and yes it was the second year in a row but he wasn’t going to ruin it for everyone. He put his hand out and waved her off instead. 

So the night dragged, a little. After the plate of food, and the cake, and a few thousand shots of Geno, him and the Cup with varying friends and family he was relieved to find that it was the appropriate time to turn into a pumpkin. 

He made his goodbyes to his family, taking the gifts he’d gotten and throwing them in the car Geno apparently had rented for the day. Being that it was Geno, it was a low slung sports car and it barely fit things. Plus the Cup and the protector had to drive behind them in a truck, which wasn’t Sid’s favorite things. 

As soon as they got into the car though, it was open season. He licked his lips and bit at the corner of it before he started into it. 

“What are you sorry about? Was it the kissing thing? Because that was me, I _kissed you_. Don’t apologize for that. I should apologize for that. I’m sorry, by the way. It wasn’t okay. We were… I mean. _Anyone could see_. And you didn’t want it, which is not your fault…” 

Geno’s head jerked to the side, the car jerking as well, and Sid put his hand up to the safety bar (or as Taylor called it, the ‘Oh SHIT’ bar). 

“GENO.” 

“ **SID**. You think I not talk to you because I don’t like kiss?” 

Sid squirmed in his seat. “You kind of made it feel clear in the locker room. And the clean out. And every day after. And when I called you.” 

“You say it mistake, Sid,” Geno said, looking firmly at the road ahead of him. “You call it adrenaline and booze.” 

Which, yes, he had, but when you’re staring down a giant Russian who looks like he might deck you or scream you kind of say what you have to. 

“You looked like you were going to bolt or like… punch me or something?” 

Geno’s face went scrunched up and Jeez, he gave Sid very little chance at not being in love with him, didn’t he? “I was shock. We win Cup, back to back, and you kiss me. I thought maybe dream. You call it a mistake, I get… anxious. I think you kiss nearest person.” 

“Fleury was closer than you,” he said, passively. THAT would have been a fun experience. He might have been punched, but it would have been by his wife, who he was far more scared of than Flower. 

“I say sorry because I show up on your Cup day, your birthday, with out asking.” 

“I’m assuming my sister was pretty persuasive,” he said and Geno let out his familiarly low chuckle. 

“You could say,” he said. “She put ticket on your credit card. Said you need me. I think maybe she not know. But I get here and she give me a talking to.” 

He flinched in sympathy. He knew the aggression of a Taylor Crosby talk down. He eased down in the chair and looked out the side of the window, eyes on the rear view mirror, watching the truck follow them. They were in his neighborhood, so Geno had slowed to a reasonable rate. 

“You can go to a hotel, if you want,” he said, softly. “I’ll tell Taylor you were very kind.” 

Geno was dead silent for the last minute or so it took before he parked in the spot right outside of Sid’s house. It was just after ten at night and Sid was feeling like he just wanted his birthday to be over. He looked at Geno, who stared him down. He braced himself for… something. He wasn’t entirely sure. But not good. He was not seeing confetti and champagne in his near future. 

“I stay here,” Geno said, simply. “Sid. I stay here. With you.” 

Sid inhaled. “Okay. That’s… good?” 

“You are bull headed jack ass,” Geno sighed. “I thought… I … You _tell me_ so I thought. Grrr.” 

Sid could tell he was searching for words, trying his best to put it all together but it wasn’t working right. He would’ve hazarded a guess, but instead he was met with lips on his. Geno’s lips, rough and big and a little messier than he was used to and he was just too confused by the whole thing to process life for a second. Instead he sighed and put a hand up. Fuzz. He liked the fuzz. 

Geno pulled back a few times to say something in Russian, angry angry Russian which was disturbingly hot. Sid tilted his head each time, sure whatever he said was probably at least seventy-five percent true. He was just looking forward to the next kiss. Which always came and that was nice. He liked that part. Geno tugged on the places his hair had grown out. 

He’d completely forgotten where he was, until the knock on the window. 

“Shit,” he fumbled and turned to see Mike who looked like he’d rather be eating metal then knocking on that door. Sid rolled the window down.

“Mr. Crosby,” Mike coughed. “I would feel more comfortable with the Cup inside. Our next flight is in eight hours.” 

Sid nodded way too much, awkward amounts. “Yeah, of course. Um. Let’s … yes.” 

He rolled the window back up and Geno had his head on the steering wheel huffing with laughter. He smacked him, naturally. 

“Like teenager, Sid.” 

“Shut up,” he whined, not helping his cause. He moved to get out of the car but Geno pulled him in one last time for a brush to the lips. “ _G_.”

They got out of the car and Sid fished his keys out. Geno took the Cup, which kind of annoyed Sid as it was _his day_. Geno had had his almost a month before. But when he took it with him into Sid’s bedroom, Sid’s face felt warm and it didn’t bother him nearly as much. 

“We’ll… um. Sleep with it in the room. Just wake us when you… Um. Need to go?” Sid stumbled across his words. Mike, who looked like he might actually want to die MORE than Sid at that moment, just nodded. Sid had pointed out the guest room to Mike that morning, which was a nice thing to not have to worry about doing. 

He walked into his bedroom and found Geno seated on the edge of his bed, the Stanley in the corner. The room, which had felt closed off and empty that morning felt something more that evening. 

Maybe thirty wasn’t as bad as he thought.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks Freetodream5 for the look over. <3 
> 
> Title from Katy Perry's "Birthday"


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